


It's getting late and I cannot seem to find my way home tonight

by ttakjoha (nematoda)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, So much angst, also some cuddling, squint and you'll see jackbum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 22:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7819789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nematoda/pseuds/ttakjoha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson is trash. And nothing you say will convince him otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's getting late and I cannot seem to find my way home tonight

**Author's Note:**

> If I should die tonight  
> May I first just say I’m sorry  
> For I, never felt like anybody  
> I am a man of many hats although I  
> Never mastered anything
> 
> \--Panic! at the Disco & Fun., "C'mon"
> 
> POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING for depression, anxiety, thoughts of self-harm

“Let’s try it one more time, Jackson,” the producer says through the intercom, sounding fed-up. Jackson takes a gulp of water, feeling the burn of his sore throat. He doesn’t ask for a break. He doesn’t deserve a break. “Try to sound… less like a rapper. Try it again.”

Right. He should just rap… less like a rapper. That makes perfect sense. He tries again anyways. Behind the glass of the recording booth, he can see the producer say something to the manager, who shakes his head defeatedly. The producer rubs at his eyes and leans forward to press the intercom button.

“Let’s call it a day, Jackson.”

“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to try it again, please,” Jackson says through the tightness in his throat. “I want to get it right.”

The producer looks at the manager, who shrugs. He hits a button and the track comes on again, blaring into Jackson’s studio headphones in a way that hurts his ears just enough. He takes a deep breath and begins again.

The producer looks less… defeated after that take. Jackson decides that’s good enough for today. At least he’s leaving the studio without anyone actively hating him. Well, except for himself. But he’s usually actively hating himself, so that’s nothing new.

When he gets back to the dorm, Jaebum is sitting on the couch, watching TV. The other members are nowhere to be seen. Jackson feels something twist unpleasantly in his stomach. He nods hello as he steps out of his shoes, and prays to every deity that he knows that Jaebum will let him go without a comment this time.

“Jackson-ah, what took so long?” Jaebum’s stare is scrutinizing, unfriendly, impatient.

The deities have failed him. What else is new?

“I didn’t really understand what they were asking me to do,” Jackson says, averting his eyes and shrugging. He feels his face prickle with heat. “It took a bit longer for me to figure out what the producer wanted.”

“You know, if you spent half as much time on music theory as you did on swagger, you wouldn’t have these problems,” Jaebum says absentmindedly, turning back to the TV, probably already forgetting Jackson exists. Or at least trying to.

“You’re probably right,” Jackson agrees with a chuckle, feeling the sound echo in his hollow chest. He strikes a pose. “But then I wouldn’t be Wild and Sexy! Gotta keep ‘em guessing, eh hyung?”

Jaebum looks at him briefly, sighs, and turns back to the TV.

“Sure, Jackson.”

Jackson makes it back to his room without further comments, which he counts as a blessing. He knows he probably deserves the sharp little comments Jaebum makes. He knows Jaebum probably doesn't think they're all that sharp, anyways. He knows Jaebum cares about him (although he cannot for the life of him fathom  _ why _ ), and that it could be a lot worse. Jaebum is only trying to be a good leader. He and Jackson are in the same boat: trying, trying, trying.

That doesn't make it easier to swallow the words, sharply barbed like burrs catching in his esophagus. It doesn't make it easier when they won't stay down, when they come back up like acid reflux in the middle of the night, keeping him awake no matter how exhausted he is.

Mark, propped up on the top bunk playing with his phone, spares Jackson a quick glance as he enters their room. Jackson is grateful for Mark's little moments of inattentiveness; it's almost always a struggle to hide his problems from Mark, The Observant One.

“What took so long?” Mark mumbles, eyes still glued to his phone.

“I kept fucking up. The usual,” Jackson grumbles dramatically, hoping his act will pass inspection. He digs out a pair of sweatpants and a tank, before pausing, pseudo-thoughtfully. “Have you ever been told to ‘rap less like a rapper’?”

Mark laughs. (Well. Mark exhales somewhat more forcefully.) “No.”

“I thought not. I'm gonna take a shower.”

Jackson turns the hot water up as high as he can stand it, and sits under the stream until his skin is pink and his lungs feel soggy from the steam. He loses track of time, watching the water as it swirls in little rivers over his skin, twisting like tiny snakes off his body and down the drain. He forgets to use soap.

A sudden pounding on the door makes him jump, heart seizing painfully in his chest.

“Hyung! Hurry up already!” It's BamBam, obviously wanting to use the bathroom, childish whine present in full force.

“I'm almost done!” Jackson calls, hoping he can stall for five, ten, sixty more minutes.

When he finally emerges, steam billows out around him like a noxious gas into Jinyoung’s room. BamBam rushes past him into the bathroom, mumbling something about divas. Jinyoung, lying nearby on his futon, looks up from his current paperback.

“What took you so long?” He asks, scratching the bridge of his nose. Jackson tries not to hate Jinyoung’s movie star face. It's not his fault that he looks better than Jackson ever could, after all. It's not his fault that he was born lucky. “You were in there for almost an hour.”

“You should know better than to ask a man what he does while he's alone in the bathroom,” Jackson says creepily, throwing in a lascivious wink for good measure. Jinyoung rolls his eyes.

“Only you could jerk it for an hour,” Jinyoung says, nose wrinkling up in disgust. Jackson hates that he still looks handsome, even with his face all scrunched up and his eyes full of judgment. “Maybe save the marathon sessions for a day when no one else is home next time.”

“Will do, Jinyoung-ah.”

Jackson returns to room, flicking the lights back on out of habit. Mark groans and pulls his hoodie over his face.

“Jackson! Lights off! God!”

“Sorry, sorry!”

The lights turn off. Mark sighs in lieu of thanking him. Jackson crawls into his bed by the light of his phone and lies back, searching out familiar patterns in the particle board that makes up the underside of Mark's bunk. He finds the wood chip that looks like a submarine, his favorite one, and imagines he lives hundreds of meters under the surface of the ocean, in a place that's cool and dark and the only pressure is the kind that's keeping him alive, not the kind that's slowly killing him.

  
  


Jackson freezes in the middle of dance practice for no apparent reason. All day he's felt fuzzy, like his ears are full of cotton and he's wearing someone else's glasses. Suddenly, despite the pounding music and muscle memory, he forgets their entire dance. It just falls out of his head like so many marbles, scattered across the wooden dance floor. He stands in the back for a few moments, watching the others blankly, before remembering the steps and moving again, hoping his flub goes unnoticed. His hopes are dashed almost instantly as his slightly misplaced position is clipped by a spinning BamBam, causing Jackson to stumble backwards and step on Yugyeom’s toes. Yugyeom howls and grabs his foot, hopping in place, and Jaebum, watching this all with laser focus while simultaneously dancing perfectly, shouts his frustration aloud as he gives up and marches across the room to shut off the music.

“Jackson! What is the matter with you?” Jaebum yells, turning his predatory stare on Jackson.

“Everything,” Jackson almost says, but doesn't. Instead he shrugs half-heartedly. Jaebum begins to pull at his hair with both hands.

“Why can’t you focus for once? We’ve done this dance a thousand times! You should have this down by now!”

Jackson’s ears are ringing loudly.

“It’s called ‘practice’ for a reason, Jaebum,” Mark mutters from the side of the room where he’s getting a drink of water. Jaebum glares at him but says nothing, temper briefly banked by his undying commitment to the age hierarchy. He turns back to face Jackson, who is beginning to feel nauseous.

“Get it right this time.” The “or else” goes unsaid. Jaebum’s words and pointing finger are all threat.

“I will, I promise,” Jackson swears.

The music starts again. Everything goes well. The members move smoothly together, dancing around each other in perfect sync. Jackson spends almost as much time watching them as he does focusing on his own parts. He can’t help but feel like the rusty cog in this well-oiled machine. His thoughts are confirmed when he twirls the wrong way and rams bodily into Youngjae, who’s spinning from the other direction. Jackson’s jaw connects with Youngjae’s nose with a loud crack, and Youngjae falls the the ground.

The music cuts off as the members rush to Youngjae, who is holding his nose with a shocked expression, eyes widening as he takes his hand away and sees blood. Jinyoung gets him to his feet and hurries him out of the room. The members turn to look at Jackson.

“Jackson-hyung, you’re bleeding,” BamBam says, pointing to his mouth. Jackson wipes his hand across his lips. The back of his hand is smeared with red. He feels dizzy.

“Must’ve bit my tongue,” Jackson says absentmindedly, still staring at his bloody hand, wondering why he didn’t feel the pain. Someone gives him a paper towel. He spits into it, and stares at the red mess.

“Just go home, Jackson,” Jaebum sighs, temper fizzled out by worry over Youngjae. “That’s enough for today.”

  
  


“Jackson, get up,” Mark says, shaking him roughly. Jackson pulls his blanket over his head and says nothing. “Jackson, you need to get ready. You’re filming MCountdown today, remember? Jaebum is waiting, c’mon.”

After a while, Mark leaves. Jackson rolls to face the wall and prays he doesn’t come back.

Mark comes back, with Jinyoung, who sits on the side of the bed and puts a gentle hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

“Jackson, are you okay? Are you sick?”

Jackson says nothing.

“Are you sure he’s not asleep?” Jinyoung asks quietly.

“He’s not, he looked at me.” Mark sounds annoyed.

“How long has he been like this?”

“Since yesterday afternoon. I thought he was just tired. He usually snaps out of it by now.”

Jinyoung’s hand squeezes his shoulder. The weight on the bed shifts closer.

“Jackson? You need to get up,” Jinyoung murmurs, sounding close to Jackson’s face. His heart pounds. “They’re leaving soon for MCountdown, you have to go. You’re MCing today, remember? With Jaebum-hyung?”

_ Please don’t make me go. _

“What was that? What did you say?”

“Please don’t make me go,” Jackson whispers, his voice sounding cracked and broken in a way that makes his own skin crawl in disgust.

“What’s wrong?” A heavy pause. “...Is this about Jaebum-hyung?”

“No.”

“Then why don’t you want to go?”

Jackson says nothing.

“Jackson?”

“I can’t go.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can, Jackson,” Mark sounds exasperated. “You’ve been an MC dozens of times.”

“I’ll just ruin it for everyone. I can’t go because I’ll mess up and ruin it,” Jackson whimpers, feeling hot tears stream down his face.

“You’ll do fine, Jackson,” Jinyoung coos, like he’s talking to a baby. Jackson feels like a baby. “You always do so well at these things.”   
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I’m not! You’re really good!”

“I don’t believe you. I’m garbage. I’ll ruin everything.”

Silence, followed by the sounds of Mark leaving the room. Jinyoung rubs soothing circles in his back. Jackson’s whole body shakes, like he has a fever. Footsteps approach.

“What’s going on?” Jaebum asks impatiently. “Why are you still in bed? Get up! We have to go!”

“Jackson needs some encouragement,” Jinyoung says carefully, still rubbing Jackson’s back. “He’s afraid he’s going to mess up at MCountdown.”

“He might, the way he’s been acting lately,” Jaebum scoffs. A hand shoves at Jackson’s hip. “Yah! Get up! I won’t say it again!”

“Jaebum. Stop.” Mark’s voice is quiet but serious.

“What is the matter with you two? Me  _ encouraging _ him won’t help. All this is in his head.”

Jackson curls up into a ball and says nothing.

“Something is wrong with him,” Mark says, sounding uncomfortable. “Should we call someone?”

“Call who? The manager? His  _ mom?” _ Jaebum spits out, full of contempt. Jackson starts crying, the sobs shaking his body even further. He does want his mom. Does that make him so pathetic? “He’s just being dramatic. Yah!” Another shove. “Do you want me to call the psych hospital? Do you want to get locked up?”

“I want to die,” Jackson sobs.

Jinyoung gasps quietly, his hand stilling on Jackson’s back. The room is silent except for Jackson’s crying.

“You’re not helping,” Jinyoung says, standing. “Can’t you see something is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, he’s just having a bad day and can’t handle it. I don’t have time for this today. I’m leaving.”

Jaebum storms out. Mark and Jinyoung exchange hushed whispers for a while before both leaving the room. Jackson hears raised voices, followed by the sound of the front door slamming.

Suddenly, a body is joining him in the bed, spooning him and pulling the blanket back from his head to run long fingers through his hair.

“Just go to sleep, hyung,” BamBam coos, curving around him like a protective shield. Since when did he get so big? Jackson closes his eyes and tries not to hate the feeling of being touched. Eventually, he falls asleep to BamBam’s promises of “it’ll all be better tomorrow.”

  
  


Jackson wakes up because he needs to pee. Judging by the lack of light from the windows, it’s well into the night. BamBam is gone. He gets up, peeks at Mark’s bunk to make sure he’s asleep, and tiptoes out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

After relieving his bladder and spending a few minutes staring at his gaunt, hideous face in the bathroom mirror, Jackson slips back through the hallways, fully intending to go back to sleep, if he can manage it.

“Jackson, come here,” a voice whispers from the living room. He almost jumps out of his skin at the sound. He knows that voice. He knows he can’t ignore it. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and turns back, toward the living room.

Jaebum is there, sitting cross-legged on the couch. The TV is on, muted, the flickering blue-white light casting strange patterns on Jaebum’s face. He looks up when Jackson appears, smiles, and pats the seat next to him. Jackson hesitates a moment, just a moment but long enough not to go unnoticed. Jaebum’s smile falters a little. Jackson sits. Jaebum unfolds his legs, scoots over, and puts an arm around Jackson, pulling his head onto Jaebum’s shoulder. His fingers rub soft patterns into Jackson’s arm.

“I’m sorry about today,” Jaebum says quietly, sighing. “I really fucked up, didn’t I?”

Jackson says nothing, feeling nauseous, torn between agreeing with him and telling him that no, Jackson is the fuck-up. It’s his fault, it’s always  _ his fault. _

After an awkward silence, Jaebum continues, tentatively. “I was stressed, and I know that’s no excuse, because obviously you’re stressed, too, and you don’t say shit like that. Jinyoung gave me an earful for it in the car.”

“Jinyoung?” Jackson whispers, confused.

“Yeah,” Jaebum says, seemingly perking up at the question, the faintest hint of interaction. “He took your spot on MCountdown. Everything went fine, don’t worry. He’s a professional.”

“Hmm,” Jackson contributes. He wants to punch himself at the implication.  _ Jinyoung is a professional, unlike you. _

“What happened today, though?” Jaebum asks, craning his neck awkwardly to look into Jackson’s face. “You’ve never… given up like that, before. Is something going on?”

“I’m just having a hard time,” Jackson says, shrugging. The ideal answer, informative enough to get someone off his back, ambiguous enough not to reveal anything.

“What’s wrong?”

Damn Jaebum and his inability to let things go.

“Nothing in particular, I just hate myself,” Jackson says in exasperation, before he can stop himself. He bites his lip at Jaebum’s sharp intake of breath. Jaebum pushes him off of his shoulder, turns to look at him head-on, mouth slightly open in shock, brow crumpled in concern.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Jackson mumbles, staring down at the couch, suddenly fascinated by the fabric of it. His heart is beating too quickly to be healthy.

“But you said it,” Jaebum insists, hushed. “Why did you say that?”

“Because it’s true.” Jackson lifts his head to look at his leader, his friend, who looks like someone just killed his cat. Jackson knows the feeling. He looks away again. “We all know I’m the weak link here. I’m not as good a rapper as BamBam or Mark, or even  _ you _ , for fuck’s sake. I can’t sing. I barely keep up in the dance practices. I’m always messing up at Korean. Literally everyone is better looking that me, so there goes being the visual. I do the martial arts stuff, but everybody knows that’s really Mark’s thing. So what does that make me?  _ ‘Variety king’? _ I know that’s just code for ‘loud and obnoxious.’ You would all be better off if I wasn’t here, honestly.”

“Jackson, none of that is true,” Jaebum whispers, sounding wrecked. His hands come up to cup Jackson’s face, forcing him to make eye contact. Jackson feels his throat tighten at the sadness in Jaebum’s eyes. He wants to cry for making him so upset, and apologize for making Jaebum care about him at all, and scream at the unfairness that Jaebum gets to be upset over Jackson’s problems, when they’re  _ his _ problems, damnit, and nobody else’s.

“Nothing you can say will convince me otherwise,” Jackson says, feeling the bitterness in his words with every inch of his body. He shakes Jaebum’s hands off and turns to look away. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this. It’s not like you can help.”

“Why not? Why can’t I help?” Jaebum asks, some of his fire coming back at the concept of a challenge. Jackson ought to know better than to tell Jaebum he can’t do something; it’s a guaranteed method to get him to try it.

“Because it’s all about  _ me _ . It’s all in my head. It’s my own fault I’m like this, it’s my fault I don’t believe people when they tell me how great I am. It’s my fault I can’t get out of this rut.”

“It’s not your fault, Jackson,” Jaebum says, incredulous. Jackson feels like laughing for some reason. Maybe it’s the cruel irony of telling someone he won’t believe them, only to hear them keep trying to convince him. “Do you understand how depression works? This is not something you can change just by trying harder. You need help.”

Jackson does laugh at that, the sound dry and crackling, like his lungs are made of old newspaper. “I’m aware of that, thanks.”

“So we get you some help,” Jaebum says resolutely. Jackson stops laughing. He feels sick again.

“I’m not going to some psych facility. I won’t do it.”

“Nobody said anything about that,” Jaebum insists, sounding frustrated.

“You did. This afternoon. ‘Do you want to get locked up?’ That’s what you said.”

Jaebum puts his face in his hands. “I did say that, didn’t I? Wow, I’m an asshole.”

Jackson huffs in agreement. “You said it, not me.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaebum says, pulling Jackson in for a tight hug. His breath is hot and moist on Jackson’s ear. “I’m sorry I’ve been so terrible about this. I’m sorry I don’t have any answers. But I want to help. I’ll get you help, okay? You don’t have to do this alone, Jackson.”

Jackson just nods and lets himself be held, feeling tears leak out of his eyes when he thought he had no more left to cry. Jaebum holds him tighter despite the wet patches collecting on his favorite sweatshirt, and Jackson wonders if everything will ever be the same again.

  
  


Jaebum goes with him to his first therapy appointment. He offers to wait outside, but Jackson pulls him in by the hand, sits him down on the couch, and turns to face the doctor with their fingers interlaced. If the doctor thinks anything strange about it, she doesn’t say anything.

Jackson likes his new doctor. She has kind eyes, like his mom, and a no-nonsense attitude. She tells him when he’s being stupid, which he likes a lot, because it means that much more when she tells him that he’s not being stupid, that it really isn’t his fault, that some things can’t be changed by a positive attitude and sheer willpower alone. Some things need a little push. Some things need medication. And he’s okay with that, now.

The members take turns going with him to his weekly appointments. Some of them come into the room with him, some of them don’t. Some of them look more uncomfortable than others. But all of them go, and all of them smile widely at him at the end of each appointment, like they’re proud of him, like they’re happy for him. And that’s what matters most to him--that he’s making them smile again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about all my feelings about Jackson Wang at jin-gle-young.tumblr.com


End file.
